Pedaling on the Horizon Tibet to Xinjiang, by Bicycle

TO visit Tibet is a dream for all travelers who look for adventure. For those of us who like to seek out our adventures on foot or by bicycle， however， Tibet is a very bold dream indeed.

Walking or cycling up and across the plateau is either incredibly daring or incredibly foolish， depending on who you talk to. Exerting oneself at altitudes in excess of 5，000 meters can be dangerous； sleeping outside hundreds of miles from the nearest town – and at temperatures well below freezing –can be life threatening.

With full knowledge of the dangers， I decided to put myself to the test by riding across the Roof of the World last spring. My journey – close to 3，000 kilometers from the Tibetan capital， Lhasa， to Yecheng， just near Kashi City， in Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region – would take 39 days. It was，needless to say， quite a challenge， but it surely must rate as one of the world’s ultimate – and most stunning – endurance cycling routes.

Tibet is no stranger to me. I am a diehard cyclist， and have previously ridden the Sichuan-Tibet and Yunnan-Tibet routes. Both are punishing ordeals， but they pale in comparison to Tibet-Xinjiang. There’s also an attractive cultural element to this last route： it offers the rider the opportunity to ex- plore Ngari， a prefecture in the far west of the plateau regarded as the cradle of Tibetan civilization.

Thin air， rough terrain and intimidating distances are a given when cycling on the plateau. But Tibet-Xinjiang features its own particular challenges： long sections of the ride sit at 5，100 meters above sea level， the 1，000-kilometer Gangdise Mountains cut straight across the route， and the ascent up and through the Kunlun range is incredibly steep. Added difficulties could arise from chance encounters with wild animals， some of which are predators.

I knew the journey would be worthwhile， though. If I had the guts to persevere， I’d be exposed to some of the most beautiful natural scenery on the planet.

Lhasa to Gyangze

I set off from Lhasa at the end of last April， and my two female teammates， Zhang Yuyun and Mao Lijuan， departed from Yecheng， Xinjiang， at the other end of our course. We estimated our paths would cross at Shiquanhe Town in Ngari， about 1，600 km from Lhasa.

As with my previous ventures in Tibet， I took a photo of myself with my bike in front of the gorgeous Potala Palace before heading for my first stop， Gyangze.

I rode 68 kilometers along smooth， paved roads before resting for the night. I met with my first challenge the very next day： crossing the 5，000-meterhigh Kamba La Mountain. With baggage weighing in at 44 kg， I inched up the 35-km-long slope. Each push on the pedals was a strain. I was tempted to pull over and rest at some points， but I knew that once I stopped， it would be even harder to go on.

Vehicles whooshed past， their drivers craning their necks out the window to see the crazy man on the bicycle. They’d give me a thumbs up， cheer me on， and disappear up the road. After what seemed like an eternity I spotted prayer banners， signalling I’d reached the road’s highest point.

The banners led to Yamzhog Yumco， one of Tibet’s holiest lakes. The native Tibetan Bon religion was once widespread in the region， and its veneration of holy lakes and mountains was adopted into the syncretized Tibetan Buddhism that now dominates the plateau.

In the Bon tradition， Nam Co in Damxung， Mapam Yumco in Ngari and Yamzhog Yumco were said to be Tibet’s three holiest lakes， and are still regarded as such today.

For an exhausted traveler， the clear blue water of the serene Yamzhog Yumco is pure bliss. I’d worked hard to see the lake， and felt fully justified in pulling up to its shore for some quiet reflection. Such are the simple rewards that come with long-distance biking.

Yamzhog Yumco is in fact a small body of water. It’s encircled by peaks； in spring and summer the water’s surface lies unruffled by wind， and reflections of golden rape flowers on nearby hills， still against the aquamarine mirror， seem so real you could almost touch them.

Pilgrims often visit the shore， where they inevitably stack up piles of Mani stones： small pebbles inscribed with a six-syllable Buddhist mantra. They make wishes as they do this.

I spent the night in Nanggarze， the world’s highest county. The next day I rode across the Karuola Glacier， 5，100 meters above sea level. While I was slogging through the mountain pass， snow suddenly began to fall. The weather is erratic this high above sea level.

Pushing against the wind I arrived in Gyangze， a strategic spot on the way to Yadong and a key battlefield in the war against the British invasion of Tibet in 1904. Today， Gyangze’s Zongshan Castle still stands witness to this strange piece of history.

Having finally checked into a hotel – there were actually quite a few， and I had to search for the cheapest rates – I headed out again to survey the town and grab a bite to eat. I entered a local eatery， and sat down by two Tibetan men who were singing and playing on local musical instruments. It was lovely and unexpected， and though I didn’t understand the words， the melody was touching. I enjoyed the private concert while I ate.

Gyangze-Old Zhongba-New Zhongba

Day four， and I headed to Xigaze. The city has a history of 500 years， and it was a sub-regional political center in theocratic times. Today the city looks much like any urban center in China， though， it’s managed to maintain neighborhoods of Tibetan architecture.

Zhaxilunbo is the largest monastery in the city and has served as the headquarters of the Panchen Lama since his fourth reincarnation. Its religious significance is on par with that of Potala Palace， the winter palace of the Dalai Lama. Zhaxilunbo is one of the four major shrines of the Gelug sect within Tibetan Buddhism， the other three being the Gan- den， Sera and Zhaibung monasteries.

While not as grand as Potala Palace， the largely black and white Zhaxilunbo is impressive in another sense. A broad wooden plank walkway leads to the heart of the complex， which is encircled by awe-inspiring pagodas and halls dedicated to various saints and gods， each a treasurehouse of art and history in its own right.

It was a lovely place to relax after a tough and dusty journey. Reluctant to leave， I packed up and hit the road again.

That day I crossed three hills over a total of 150 km before arriving at Lhaze， a county where the Xinjiang-Tibet Highway crosses the China-Nepal Friendship Highway. It was here that I first spotted a signboard for Shiquanhe， which meant I was closing in on Ngari Prefecture.

The days rolled into one long riding session. For hours and hours， I was the only person on my horizon. At 4，900 meters， I passed a sign that read，“wildlife ahead.” I was hoping to see some Chiru， or Tibetan antelope. It’s an endangered species that’s rarely sighted， even by those who know where to look. I got my hopes up as I rode past the sign. No luck， though.

My last stopover in Xigaze was Zhongba， a county seat that lies at the western end of the prefecture. Rapid desertification forced Zhongba’s people to leave their old homes and build new ones a dozen kilometers away. The two sites are now referred to as Old and New Zhongba. The contrast is stark： what was a town of 20，000 people is now a lifeless sprawl of dilapidated buildings and sand dunes.

Tadong， a monastery of the Shakya Sect of Tibetan Buddhism， sits between the old and new county seats. It is an understated complex with a rich hoard of precious frescos and religious manuscripts. The central hall is dedicated to Padmasambhava， a patriarch of Tibetan Buddhism and a central figure in Tibetan Buddhist mythology. There is also a shrine to Princess Wencheng， who married the Tubo King Songtsen Gampo in the seventh century as a gesture of goodwill between Tibet and the Tang Dynasty. Princess Wencheng remains a popular figure in Tibet to this day.

It is nothing short of a miracle to see such a wellpreserved temple in so desolate a place. I paid my respects to both figures and prayed for their blessings for the rest of my journey.

New Zhongba-Kangrinboqe-Shiquanhe

After climbing up over the 5，230-meter Mayum La mountain pass， I dropped down into a valley that seemed never to end. There were no sounds here at all， except for the howl of the wind and the slosh of melting snow under my tires.

Suddenly a flash of shimmering water caught my eye at the far end of the valley. In a moment， I was there， and recognized it as Mapam Yumco， one of Tibet’s three holiest lakes.

Behind it rises the 7，700-meter Mt. Naimona’nyi，which is in turn flanked by the sacred Mt. Kangrinboqe， believed by Tibetan Buddhists， Bon adherents and Hindus to be the center of the world. Pilgrims from India， Pakistan and Tibet flock to the mountain year-round to perform the Kora – to circumambulate the mountain. The circumference is 56 kilometers and completing the circuit on foot takes two days at least.

Many pilgrims spend the first night at the foot of the mountain and watch the sunrise the next morning before setting off towards the 5，630-meter Drolma Lha Pass. For Buddhists completing the Kora here can wash away their sins. Tourists may not get religious benefits， but it is a fine opportunity for some healthy exercise and spectacular sightseeing.

Meeting in Shiquanhe

I entered Shiquanhe on the 19th day of my journey. In a basin surrounded by rolling mountains， the town sees a steady stream of tourists who stop here to replenish their supplies before continuing their journeys. All modern amenities and services can be found in the town – I paid RMB 10 for a bath， a pure luxury after travelers like me who ride or walk into town.

My teammates Zhang Yuyun and Mao Lijuan were already there. They’d done an exceptional job getting this far so quickly， and indeed in the end would count among the few female cyclists who had finished the Xinjiang-Tibet route. They had survived dust storms， hail and swelling caused by a lack of oxygen. But the journey， they said， had also been peppered with moments of joy and revelry. As with me， a holy lake， Lungmu Tso Lake， was a standout for Zhang and Mao； they’d stayed on its banks sometime， drinking freshly brewed coffee and staring at the heavenly reflections on its surface.

We said goodbye， and resumed our journeys in opposite directions. After riding 26 kilometers up a mountain road， I looked back down at the town， bathed in the morning sunshine， having no idea when I would be back again.

Doima-Death Valley-Yecheng

I encountered some other cyclists on my way to Yecheng， but for much of the time I was alone. When Rutog County， known for its dozen cliff painting sites， became a fuzzy spot on the horizon behind me， the asphalt road gave way to a dirt path. My bike wasn’t made for the off-road， and I jolted my way to sore joints over the next 109 kilometers. Bad luck always comes in pairs， mind you， and during that particularly unpleasant section I was trailed for some time by a wild wolf. Eventually， the wolf went away， perhaps feeling sorry for this foolish man trying to stay upright on his bicycle in the middle of the plateau.

That night I found accommodation with a local Tibetan family – the only people I came across during the day’s desolate ride. There was little verbal communication between my host and me； the only Tibetan word I knew was “hello.”

At Mt. Daban， which marks the border between Xinjiang and Tibet， I arrived at the dream-like Lungmu Tso lake. It’s 5，000 meters above sea level， and joins a number of other alpine lakes in this border zone. The scenery is simply stunning， and must certainly be a highlight for any adventurer who comes across it.

At dusk I found myself in the notorious Death Valley. I’m not superstitious， and decided to spend the night there. My GPS device showed an altitude of 5，190 meters. I woke up the next morning， feeling very much alive.

The ascending section of rugged granite rock formations that led to the Qitaidaban Pass made riding completely impossible. But even pushing the bike became a near-impossibility as I hiked up at the altitude of 5，200 meters above sea level. I had to stop ever 10 steps or so， gasping for air. The pain squeezing at my lungs and muscles was awesome， and I remember it vividly to this day. I developed a renewed admiration for those living at such altitudes and the hard life they must lead.

I hopped back on my bike two kilometers from the pass with the knowledge that it would be my last serious climb of the trip. Over the pass， and my destination， Yecheng， was mostly downhill and finally in reach.